


Explorers

by hotspaceletsgo



Category: Muse (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Old Mistakes, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-02-25 02:06:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22008175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotspaceletsgo/pseuds/hotspaceletsgo
Summary: The members of Muse are put into the world of common tumblr prompts and explore them as their various forms throughout their lives.(Basically what happens when you mess about with a prompt generator. Six stories with six randomly generated plots and members.)
Relationships: Dom Howard/Chris Wolstenholme, Dom Howard/Tom Kirk, Matt Bellamy/Chris Wolstenholme, Matt Bellamy/Dom Howard, Tom Kirk/Chris Wolstenholme
Comments: 13
Kudos: 12





	1. Belldom

Matt was soaking in sweat by the time they reached the clearing. He wondered how Dom could keep his energy all along the way from their car.

The blue-haired boy let out a heavy breath and collapsed on a nearby log, forgetting completely about his large rucksack. One of the iron bars from the tent stuck into his ribs.

"Stupid tent," Matt hissed and started rubbing the place.

Dom was a few steps ahead and he started looking around. He admired the height of the trees, the sun rays shining through the foliage and in the back of his mind there nagged a slight admiration towards the innocent figure sitting on a fallen log, looking rather grumpy. But the blond didn't mind. He was glad Matt agreed to tag along on this small trip.

Dom snapped out of his trance and walked back to Matt. "It's a nice place I found, innit?" Dom smiled.

The younger flashed him a grin, that one wonky tooth peeking out. It was adorable.

"C'mon, let's build the tent," the blond encouraged his friend, patting his shoulder.

Matt slid the backpack from his skinny shoulders, finally relieving himself. He slid down dramatically and laid next to Dom's feet.

The blond took mercy on him; Matt wasn't used to these big hikes at all. He opened the backpack and started putting the tent together on his own.

Matt closed his eyes for a few minutes and listened to the sounds of nature - and Dom's huffing. It really felt refreshing being out after a few days spent caved in a studio. The crisp air seemed to had started affecting Matt already, his head clearing off of negative thoughts, replacing them with bliss.

His eyes took a glimpse at struggling Dom, deciding to offer a hand when Dom was trying to ground the tent.

Smiling, Dom accepted the help, letting go of the peg and steadying the hammer with both hands, so he didn't hurt Matt or himself.

It took a few tries and some almost hurt fingers, but their tent seemed to stand still. For a some time anyway.

Dom swept the sweat off his forehead and looked at his wristwatch. "We survived the biggest heat, now it's time to reward ourselves, yeah?"

"What's on your mind, Dom?" Matt's eyebrow rose up.

"It's almost six, the sun's lazily going behind the horizon, and we're both drenched in sweat. Well, aren't you lucky you have me?" Dom smirked and took Matt's hand, dragging him behind the trees. There was an almost invisible path; they followed it and after a few minutes Matt understood what Dom meant.

Right in front of them was a lake.

Dom was the first one to take off his shirt and trousers, and he ran towards the water, not wasting any more minutes in the heat.

Matt, deciding to be a good friend for once, took Dom's clothes and jogged to a small pier where he sat down. Dom was swimming around.

"How's the water?" Matt asked the blond. He was hesitant to go for a swim, but the heat was so unbearable...

"Soothing as fuck, after being on sun for god knows how long." He propped himself on the wooden texture of the pier, looking directly at Matt. "You should try it, Bellamy."

Matt couldn't react fast enough to dodge Dom's hands around his wrists and with a click of two fingers he was under the water.

Safe to say it was _cold_. Plus he was still dressed in his clothes.

With a gasp his head dove above the surface and looked for Dom.

"You're gonna pay for that, you bastard!" he yelled, but he couldn't see the blond mop of hair anywhere, until he felt another tug on his feet, giving him a second to take a deep breath, and he was soon sent down again.

Dom's hands held him by the shoulders and Matt opened his eyes to have a proper look at the blond. The water was clear and as the sun was setting, he could clearly see Dom's broad smile in the slightly orange light.

 _Bloody hell_ , he was gorgeous in his half-naked form with hair flying all around him and those crystal clean canines showing.

Matt needed to breathe.

He grabbed Dom's hands on his shoulders, dropping them from its place, swam to the surface while still holding Dom's hands. He coughed up a few breaths, trying to keep his head aove water.

Then he felt two arms circling his waist, squeezing gently, as if trying to help with his cough. "Hey there, are you alright?" Dom laughed.

Matt's breath calmed down after a few seconds, but his heart was beating fast. He turned around in Dom's arms.

Dom was looking straight into his blue eyes and the sun was illuminating his form. "Hi."

Matt stared back. "Hello."

There was a moment of silence and Matt almost thought Dom was about to do something stupid, like try to push him down again. Or kiss him.

But that was just his imagination.

Dom smiled his million dollar smile, his white canines showing, and turned his head away. "Let's swim til we can. It'll be dark soon." The blond jumped to the water, splashing water at Matt who couldn't care less about getting more wet by now.

He was stuck in one place for a moment, deep in thoughts about the ten seconds that happened between them. He grinned.

_Dom's gonna pay for that too._

He took off his shirt, trousers and shoes, threw it on the pier and went to chase Dom, getting him in a headlock after he caught the blond.


	2. Wolstendom

I finally knock at the door of Matt's house. LA is huge and it took me about an hour to find where he lives. The only plus is that it's California. If I were to stay in London on the New Year's Eve, I'd have frozen, trying to drive through the busy streets.

It's the end of 2019, it feels so strange. It's been a great year for Muse, for me personally, for everyone around me, and now it's at the very end.

My train of thoughts is broken by the door opening and I see Matt's wife, Elle, smiling broadly at me.

"Hey, Chris! Wonderful seeing you," she says and opens the door for me. I step inside. "Matt told me you said you won't be able to make it."

"Well, here I am," I return and hug her. "Can you take me to our talented singer? I wanna surprise him a bit."

She leads me through the house where a few faces I can't recognise appear, and then we arrive to a balcony where we see Matt enjoying the sunset, drinking wine and talking to Dom. He's moving his hands quickly, probably talking about an interesting discovery he made. And Dom as always looks not at all phased, but listens anyway.

When Elle leaves me alone to go prepare some food to the kitchen, I rake my hand through my hair and make my way towards my two friends who are still deep into the one-way conversation.

They don't notice at first, presuming I'm some other guest, so I clear my throat. Matt stops in the middle of his sentence and both turn their head towards me, their eyes wide as if they were seeing a ghost.

Then I feel a pair of arms around my neck.

"Chris!" Matt shouts happily and I squeeze him with a bright smile on my face.

He pulls back. "I thought you were gonna spend tonight in London."

"Changed my mind. I wanted to be with you all here." I know I sound pathetic a bit, but I can't help it on this day.

Dom came closer to me and gave my back a pat. "Glad you're joining us. We're gonna celebrate it properly!"

We all chat for a while, having a good laugh occasionally, and I feel happy that I flew over to America. Matt then has to go and treat the rest of the guests, more coming in through his front door, and I spend time with Dom, sitting outside, occupying ourselves with either deep talks or simply sitting silently, just enjoying the other's company.

The time flew by quickly.

We still have about fifteen minutes til midnight and everyone's partially pissed already. Not drinking can sound boring on one hand, but on the other hand I don't have to be stressed about doing idiotic shit when I'm not fully aware of my actions. I meet all kinds of unfamiliar people that try to persuade me into having a pint with them and I always politely refuse, though it's starting to get a tad annoying.

My eyes scan the living room: there's Miles Kane laughing with Andy Burroughs, holding onto each other's shoulders, Matt's sitting on a sofa with Elle draped around his waist, whispering to each other's ears, and I just don't feel comfortable with the glass of coke in my hand around all these people.

I let out a sigh and make a bee line for the stairs leading to the second floor, and I try to find the bathroom. _Jesus_ , this house is really something.

The door before me open and I almost crash into Dom. At first we both look shocked, but when we become aware of each other's presence, we relax. I watch him. He's not drunk, thankfully.

"Hey, that's the bathroom, right?" I ask, my head's a bit clouded still.

Dom nods and moves to the right. I unconsciously move to the same side, then it repeats with the left side, until we let out a laugh.

I look up and furrow my brow upon seeing something.

"What's that?" I point my finger at a tiny green and red thing growing above our heads on the doorframe.

"Looks like some kind of... foliage?" Dom and I move closer, until we see it clearly.

It's a fucking _mistletoe_.

Above the entrance to the bathroom.

Dom and I turn our heads to each other, confusion painted in both of our faces.

"Why would you hang a mistletoe in the bathroom?" I ask, crossing my arms on my chest.

"Probably an excuse to have sex in the shower," Dom answers nonchalantly and I avert my head, trying to contain my laughter. It's difficult with Dom laughing at his own joke.

I look at him again. "Well, you never know what one kiss can lead to." We both chuckle at those words and Dom winks at me unconsciously.

Then it hits us.

A mistletoe above two people. Above _us_. And the tradition surrounding it.

My eyes widen as Dom's do and I back against the doorframe a bit.

Neither of us speaks for at least five minutes and we stand there, as if we were frozen into the place.

He huffs. "It's not Christmas anymore..."

"Yeah, so technically we don't have to..." I answer his invisible question.

"But the decoration is still here, and because you usually get rid of it _after_ New Year's Eve."

"And it would be a shame to break the tradition." I close my eyes, take a deep breath and open my lids again. Dom is standing closer, and as much as I don't want to admit it, I want to have him even closer.

Something wet moves on my cheek and it disappears just as quickly with a quiet 'pop'.

I'm shocked at the action because those were definitely Dom's lips on my stubbly cheek.

I pry my eyes in confusion and with a slightly open mouth, finding him only inches away from my cheek, presumably studying the place he's just touched.

And then I lose it.

I'm grinning like a maniac, and I bring him in front of me, the angle gives me full access to see Dom's big, cute grey eyes.

"Let's do that properly, shall we?" I speak up. My hand touches his chin and brings his face closer, and I close my eyes because I wouldn't have born to see any other emotion than happiness.

But I don't have to worry because Dom's mouth doesn't need to be pushed towards my lips, and his slightly wet lips touch my chapped ones, and that's all that matters at the moment.

We don't make any other movent, we just stay like this; me leaning on the doorframe with closed eyes, Dom's hands supporting his body by being perched on my shoulders.

The magic of the moment lasts even after we part.

I gaze at him from under heavy lids and we go back to the balcony where we remain alone because everyone cleared off the house to go to the garden and do the countdown there. Me and Dom mentally decide it would be better to do our own little countdown behind the railings, watching the still black night, holding onto each other.

Dom glances at his phone before he gives attention to me and we start counting.

_10..._

_9..._

_8..._

Dom moves closer to hold onto my shoulders. He starts mumbling something.

_7..._

_6..._

_5..._

"The mistletoe-"

_4..._

"...was a good-"

_3..._

"...sign, right?"

_2..._

"Totally," sounds my voice.

_1..._

Dom brings me closer and gives me a hug as we watch the fireworks go off in the distance.


	3. Wolstenkirk

Chris sensed quickly approaching footsteps and then Tom’s head poked inside the bus to look around. “Hey, where are the others?” he asked. He was seemingly searching for Matt; Chris overheard them before the soundcheck talking about an interview with people from _RADIO 1_ and that he needed to do that as fast as possible.  
  
The bassist looked up from his magazine and gave Tom an ambivalent shrug. “Not a clue, mate. You gotta hope Matt’s already doing the interview.”  
  
Tom smiled, entering the bus, and sat next to Chris on a small, comfortable sofa. “Bet that bastard forgot. Now we’ll have to wait for him to show up and drag him to do the deed, or he’s gonna come here tired and we’ll know he did the interview.”  
  
Chris chuckled, shaking his head. Yeah, he could already see Matt’s grumpy face, mumbling something about British radio hosts and how impossible they were, and Dom dragging behind, laughing at his faux misery.  
  
His thoughts were interrupted when his magazine was torn from his hands. “What are you reading?” Tom asked, but he obviously didn’t care for an answer, since he was already deep into some article about guitar pedals.  
  
“I _tried_ to get into the gear of Pete Townshend before you got a hold of that,” Chris said, emphasising the word _try_ , and before Tom could give him a reaction, the magazine was back in Chris’ hands. Tom crossed his arms on his chest, propping his legs on the table before them. “And who allowed you to put your feet there?”  
  
“Who are you, my mother?”  
  
“And who are you, a child? God, you’re worse than any of my kids. And they’re twice as young as you.” Chris looked over at Tom who didn’t look like he wanted to move a bit.  
  
When Chris’ stare took longer than Tom expected (which was one minute at best), he groaned and begrudgingly lifted his legs, sitting back on his haunches. He really looked like a child when Chris peeked at him.  
  
Three minutes after Tom couldn’t sit still and watch Chris, so he reached for his phone. He moved closer to his friend, flushing their shoulders close, and accessed his Twitter account.  
  
“You’re still using that?”  
  
Tom snorted. “Still? I’ve been using it since forever, don’t act all surprised.”  
  
Chris tried to focus on an article he was currently reading, but the task seemed to be difficult since there weren’t even five seconds when Tom didn’t at least snicker at something.  
  
Defeated, he put down the booklet and looked over Tom’s shoulder. “So, what’s new?”  
  
Tom lifted his eyes, his eyebrow raised. “Why don’t you look on your profile?”  
  
“You know I don’t use social media anymore. Let me at least have some fun along with you.”  
  
Secretly Tom knew Chris would eventually give up and join him in his shenanigans, but it was still fun to have his friend close and look at all the Tweets Muse fans make.  
  
“You know what’s kinda weird?” Chris interrupted after a few posts into their social media adventure. “I don’t understand how fans make fun of Matt, despite obsessing over him. Look at this one.” He pointed at one particular tweet. “ _Matt looks like he has a fake tan._ And a few posts above that the same person writes that Matt is the ‘king of eyeliner’.”  
  
Tom laughed heartily. “Chris, there’s nothing to understand about it, they’re just fans. You make fun of him at any chance you’re given, and you’re still best friends. It’s like that with fans as well, they’re just joking.”  
  
“They hate you, though.”  
  
“And I embrace it like a man,” Tom said and scrolled further.  
  
“That art of Matt was really good,” Chris pointed out.  
  
“What, you mean that cartoonish version of him from the _Supermassive Black Hole_ video?”  
  
The bassist nodded. “There’s many more talented people like that. Have you seen some of the fans’ art? It’s quite amazing!”  
  
“I _know_. I’m not totally incompetent when it comes to technology.” Tom logged out of Twitter and launched another app.  
  
“Tumblr?” Chris questioned. “I know something like that exists, but I never dared to make an account.”  
  
Tom thoughtfully tapped on the screen, trying out a few times when he couldn’t log in. The third try was successful. With a triumphant grin he glanced at Chris and showed him how the app looked like. “The last time I was there was before _Drones_ came out and it was fun, but it was scary, to be honest. People are weird sometimes.”  
  
“See? Told you,” Chris reacted, tapping at the screen to see a heart pop out. “What was that?”  
  
Tom panicked and tapped at the red heart below the post again only for Chris to see the heart break. “It would be nice to go back, but I don’t think I could learn how the stuff works again. But we can just scroll through it and I can show you all the people that love Muse.”  
  
Tom wedged the phone between them, so they could both see clearly. They discovered lots of different hashtags, Tom having a laugh at how many _“soon”_ s there were thanks to him. Chris sighed contently at all the old photos that he hadn’t seen in _years_ before now. He was glad he was off the media spotlight for a while, but it was refreshing to go back and read what their fans had to say about their music, what they do on stage and, he had to admit, it warmed his heart quite a few times when he saw all the posts praising his skills and his act.  
  
“Hey, how about we discover the art here? Twitter’s not really good for art because it gets lost in between all the tweets, but I saw some great pieces on Tumblr,” Tom suggested after a few other posts that were tagged with _simulation theory_ , linking to their new album. Chris didn’t really care, but he saw the happy spark in Tom’s eyes and agreed to whatever Tom had in mind.  
  
He saw Tom write _tom kirk_ in the search bar. “Isn’t that a bit narcissistic?” Chris smirked.  
  
“Compared to you, I don’t mind looking at things that are about me,” Tom retorted and navigated through the app until he found a _Photo_ category. A few recent photos of him that he put on Instagram and someone took a screenshot of them, some aesthetically pleasing edits (Tom almost liked one gif of his face photoshopped onto a guy kicking another guy that had the caption “Musers”, but he remembered he’d already liked and posted it on Twitter years ago). Some people were really talented, and Chris confirmed it by appreciative humming, but there still wasn’t any art of him which Tom didn’t want to admit, was a bit discouraging.  
  
Until they casually stumbled upon a piece.  
  
He hoped to see himself drawn, and it was exactly what the artwork was. But there was also Chris beneath him.  
  
_And it definitely looked like they were kissing._  
  
Tom stopped scrolling, keeping his gaze on the picture, dumbfounded. He heard Chris swallow and an embarrassing cough followed next to him. Only now he realised how close they were.  
  
“Hey,” Tom started. “It could’ve been anyone else for all we know.”  
  
Chris lifted his finger to point at the text written on black smudges covering the characters’ eyes.  
  
They read, _“I love you Tom”_ and _“I love you Chris”_.  
  
“I don’t think so,” Chris whispered. He didn’t want to look at the picture, but it was terrifying how the artist could create such a thing without any reference or the scene happening on its own.  
  
Well, there was _that_ situation in Osaka five years ago, but he doubted anyone knew about it except for him and Tom.  
  
As if Tom could read minds, he turned his head slowly to Chris, his eyes heavy. His eyes refused to meet Chris’ hazel orbs. “That was in... Japan.”  
  
Chris slid his hand slowly from the headrest on Tom’s shoulder, holding onto him as if he were an anchor keeping him down to earth. It didn’t do much, only increased the feeling of intimacy.  
  
“I was hoping you don’t remember,” Chris admitted. He looked back at the art. “It started exactly like that.”  
  
Tom’s hand bunched into Chris’ shirt, nearing dangerously close to his face. “And finished somewhere completely different.”  
  
Both Chris’ hand on Tom’s shoulder and Tom’s hand in Chris’ shirt pulled forward and the lips that had been left unattended by the other for so long parted like in the picture they were looking at a few moments ago.  
  
They could deal with the outer world later. Now it was just them and their mingling sights as Tom pushed Chris’ body down on the couch.  
  
•∼  
  
_This is the picture they discovered._  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. Wobell

How did that even happen?

One minute we're playing football, all of us having a great time and a minute later Matt's laying on the ground, face twisted in pain, holding his ankle.

I probably shouldn't have tried to steal the ball from him. The only actual time when he held the ball, prepared to let out all of his energy to try and score a goal, and his fragile body couldn't cope with my bigger one.

For once, he accepted my invitation to join me, Morgan, Tom, Anderson, Glen and a few staff members to play a match with us. Well, he's ruined now. At least his ankle.

One clumsy move on my side while I went against him, my foot colliding accidentally with the side of his foot, and I sent him flying forward, face first.

Though he's smiling through all of that pain; I know how terrible it can get, so better to distract yourself with anything.

Me and Tom are immediately at his side to help him stand up. We're two different men, our height not matching at all for Matt to hold on to both of us at the same time.

"I'm gonna tell one of the guys to help me with Matt, you can go play," Tom suggests and I almost agree because the game was great until now, to be honest. Until an idea strikes my head and I protest.

"No, Tom, you go back and win it for us. I'm gonna carry Matt back and do something with his ankle."

I see one of Tom's eyebrows shoot up. "Are you sure you can carry all of Matt?"

"Look at this twig, are you telling me I'm not capable of lifting this wanker up?" I smirk and Tom joins me. We let our guard down, and even if it's only for a few seconds, Matt still winces in pain at us dropping his weight at his ankle.

I quickly support his weight again and Tom watches me expectantly. I take a deep breath, put my right arm under his knees, the other under the middle of his back, and with a power of sheer will and a little bit of wanton to show off I lift his lithe body off the ground.

Tom gasps and watches how I stumble back a bit, and I'm aware all eyes are on me, watching my every step.

The photographer snaps back to reality, knowing to leave me and Matt to it. "Oi, fellas, let's get back to the match. I'm the centre now."

"No fucking way!" Anderson shouts, pleading me jokingly not to leave Tom in the lead, and I start making my way towards the dressing rooms.

"Hey, Chris, you don't have to do this," Matt suddenly says in the middle of our way.

I laugh at his uncertain tone, jerking my arms upwards, so he jumps a little in my embrace. "I don't have to, but I want to. It was my fault anyway, so I owe it to you."

"Yeah, but you should've stayed with the others and let Tom handle me." Matt wriggles around and I think he wants me to drop him down, but after he picks a more comfortable position, he relaxes in my arms again.

"I know you want Tom to man-handle you, but really, it's alright. Take it as a red card, like a penalty, ha," I console him and continue carrying his light body. "Does it still hurt?"

He smiles at the joke, but his face shows pain, as if he now remembered his ankle might be possibly broken. He doesn't say anything, just nods.

Unsure of his own actions, Matt puts his head against my shoulder, his breathing steadying. "Will I be able to sing?"

"Matt, your ankle doesn't have to do anything with your vocal chords," I joke in hopes to cheer this bugger up. He's always the one who keeps the others up and running with energy he radiates of, and I feel that since I caused this, I'm obligated to cheer him up.

"I know, I know. But... I meant on stage. Will I be able to tour? The album has been out for a while now and we'll go on tour eventually. I don't want to have to postpone it."

In the meantime we arrive to the building and I head straight to the dressing room. My arms are a bit tired already, so when I see a long bench, I ease him onto it, but I don't stand up. I keep kneeling, watching Matt squirm as he puts his foot down.

"Wait here, there should be a first aid kit somewhere." I hear him mumble something about not being able to run from me anyway before I leave, and I search around the showers where a red box hangs from a wall.

I take a few bandages and a bottle of disinfectant, half empty. Hope that will be enough.

I return to the lockers to him. "Hey, got the stuff. Take off the trainers, will you?"

Matt tries reaching for the shoes, but it's obvious it hurts him bending his ankle in order to take off the shoe. He shoots me a helpless look and I immediately regret being moved emotionally so easily. Looks like it really wasn't "just a bump".

And the theory is confirmed when I set aside his shoe and a sock to reveal a quite aggressively looking abrasion. He must've ridden the green before completely falling down.

I slowly apply the disinfection on the rash, trying to hide my hiss when I see him scrunch his face.

He, on the other hand, isn't the one to go far for sounds of discomfort. "Oh, fuck, why this? It hurts so much," Matt moans, his head shooting forwards right into the crook of my neck.

I can feel he's in pain, so I try to make him laugh. "It's either that or the lube Tom keeps in his backpack just in case he scores more than a goal."

That makes him chuckle and the vibrations cause goosebumps shoot on my spine.

_Get yourself together, man, you're becoming way too soft!_

After a few exhausting minutes I feel him relax against my shoulder, the pain slowly fading away, I hope. Now for the easier part.

"Here, let me just use the ointment and the bandages..."

I look for something to prop his leg on, so he doesn't have to hold it in the air.

Then I notice a large bag on Tom's locker. I have no idea what he brought that in or why, but Matt needs it now more than him.

I point at the bag as to tell the singer that I'm just gonna fetch it for his leg, and as heavy as that thing is, I bring it down and it's just right for the ankle to be close to my face.

"If you knot it too tight, I'll deck you," he laughs uncomfortably, but only due to the stinging pain from the disinfectant.

I apply just a bit of ointment and a bandage comes right after. He lets me do it in silence, everytime he feels it hurts, he bits his lip and tries to hold his groans in. "Gaia's gonna kill me, jesus."

"That's on me, Matt, don't worry." I finish with a knot around Matt's freakishly thin ankle, kneeling before him. We lock gazes. "If anything, I'm in shit for crippling you. If you want, I can even carry you all the way to your house the same way I did here."

Matt laughs and lightly hits my shoulder. We look at each other in silence, his leg still perched up on Tom's bag.

"I know we rarely ever do that, but... You deserve it. Even though you also caused it," he chuckles and before I can react, his thin arms circle around my waist and his head falls onto my shoulder.

I'm a bit taken aback. Matt's a very touchy person, but he knows I like my personal space. He still chose to... hug me? Is that even a proper hug?

Either way, it feels... _good_.

As much as I have to admit that Dom gives the best hugs, I haven't received many from Matt, and it's surprisingly comforting. I felt quite bad and worried for hurting Matt to the point of cancelling an upcoming tour, but his embrace is... soothing.

His small frame makes me want to protect him from all the bad things. I can't tell why.

Father instincts?

He'd definitely say something stupid like this, and I honestly wouldn't mind because even in a serious situation like this, he'd make me laugh.

I return the embrace and he squeezes me tighter. I feel sweat gluing the T-shirt to my skin, making it uncomfortable, but his arms don't remain in their place for long and I'm helping him up in a few seconds.

"Before you ask, I just felt like I should've hugged you. Though it serves you right the feeling of guilt, but I know it was an accident," Matt says in a calm voice, propping himself on my shoulder. "Shit happens. I'm glad you helped."

I chuckle. I take the bag and push it back on Tom's locker.

Matt looks at me with a worried expression, I bet because of his leg and how we're going to get his arse back to the others.

I know an efficient way how to return to the field.

My arms extend and I kneel down a bit, so he can easily hop in and let me carry him the same way I did before.

As a grin spreads across his face and he settles in my arms, I start walking again.

"Hey Chris?" Matt asks in a slightly pitched voice.

I keep looking forward, but I tune in to his words. "Hm?"

"I love you, mate."

There's a hint of a smile on my face and I turn to him in the end. "Love you too, Matt."

As much as I'm not a very affectionate person, the words can't help escaping my mouth. The brotherly love I feel towards Matt is strange sometimes; he can be unbearable and hard to tolerate when he tries to be annoying, but his friendship means the world to me.

And I believe that if he were asked why he said that to me, he'd have the same answer.


	5. Kirkward

He does it every time. 

I thought I understood his thought process, but no. This is the thing that bugs me - that I don't understand why he does it.

I know a lot of embarrassing things about him that he wouldn't reveal to anyone else - that he shaves his chest twice a week. Or that he likes to sing ABBA in the shower (and that I tragically found out on my own when we first moved in together). I might as well say that I know things even his mum doesn't know about him (and I'm sure he's not planning to tell her how he adores playing with my "golden locks", as he puts it, when I'm giving him a morning blowjob).

But one thing I _never_ levered out of him is why he likes to put his head in my lap, especially whenever I have to work. 

Maybe it's the pride not wanting to admit that _I_ , his bloody boyfriend, doesn't know something about _him_. Or the even mind I have that constantly screams: "He knows everything about you and you don't know _this_ , it's not fair!"

This or that, I pretended it never bothered me. Like I was okay with being oblivious to certain things. Or at least I tried to seem like I didn't care.

But then he stopped doing it.

Whenever I pulled up my laptop in the living room, right next to him, in an attempt to get him to do that habit of his, his raven-haired head stayed turned to the phone in his hands and didn't lower on my legs, like I expected him to. 

Not gonna lie, the disappointment hurt just a tiny bit. 

And then the doubts started rolling in.

_Oh sweet jesus._

Questions about whether he still loves me flooded my mind every morning I woke up and he wasn't in the bed with me. I would find him occupying his hands with brewing the coffee or preparing some light breakfast for the both of us, as if he was trying to avoid seeing my face when I opened my eyes. 

We used to spend the afternoon either walking hand in hand on a beach nearby, or, when it rained heavily, we'd watch a film and I would hold him tightly cause he's afraid of thunder (another thing that he's way too shy to admit to anyone), but those things faded from our daily life as well. 

Matt and Chris started to subtly ask about how we were doing, and he got a handful of looks from their side too, though it was mainly me who was the target of all the "are you two alright?"s. 

And then one day I wake up and he is there, his sad, chocolate brown eyes looking straight into mine, with the words I was dreading for a few months: "Dom, we need to talk." 

I try to avert his gaze, but I know I'm hopeless. I look back into his eyes, nod and start to sit up, the cover sliding off my naked chest to my lap where his head used to reside. He sits as well, crossing his legs, he's right in front of me. 

"Dom, these past few months have been a bit... difficult, I know. We finally told Matt and Chris we're a pair, we made the decision to move in together..." He sighs happily at the memory. "You got more space in the studio for your drum solos, which is fantastic! But I still felt like something was missing. And I started feeling it stronger and stronger every day."

By now, I already know what's on his mind. And it's a scary thought, given that we've been together for, god, seventeen years.

I always respected him for speaking his mind. He is strong in his opinions and has the confidence to talk to anybody about anything, so him approaching this subject first isn't a surprise.

"And then I got it. It was here all along and I was so blind to it all. I'm so sorry, Dom."

I quite don't understand him apologising to me, when the person in the wrong is me. My stupid blond self was thick enough not to notice that the love between us changed into something different. I couldn't put my finger on what it evolved into, but it was different. It _felt_ different.

"Dom, you're... I don't want you to be my boyfriend anymore." 

He's right. He's _so_. _Fucking. Right._ For him I've become a person dragging through life who has nothing on his mind but himself. God, I wish I could prove you wrong, Tom. I still love you so fucking much it hurts, but I'm not gonna be able to tell-

"I want you to be my husband." 

_...you._

He reaches under his pillow for a small, blue box and moves on the bed to a kneeling position, that adorable smile I adore gracing his rough features.

For a second his words don't register in my mind and I feel stuck in some kind of a parallel universe, as if he was speaking French, like he used to back in the day and I couldn't understand a thing. 

And then I finally get it. 

"You absolute sick bastard!" I hear myself yell before collapsing into his strong, equally naked chest, kissing him as tenderly as I can muster.

He is tense in my arms at the words I spoke against him, but I separate our lips for a moment and caress his jaw with both hands. "Tom, I thought- I thought you wanted to break up with me. Please, for the love of everything good, choose your words better next time." 

He starts laughing as the initial nervousness breaks down. He puts the box next to his thigh and moves his hands to my waist. "I could _never_ do that, Dom. I love you too much to even try to do it. You knew what you were getting yourself into when you started dating this idiot: stuck with me for a long time!"

"And now it'll be forever," I add, my tone hiccup-y as I feel a lump in my throat and tears start dwelling in my eyes.

"A-are you saying-"

I don't even give him the chance to finish. I want him to know how much I love him. 

"Yes. A million times yes." 

I begin kissing him again, every inch of his pure face feels fantastic against my mouth and I can't contain the joy that I knock both of us backwards on the bed into a laying position. 

I leave a trace of small kisses down to his abdomen, but despite what we would do on lazy mornings, I just stop in my actions and slowly lay my head on his thighs, his hand in my hair, caressing some loose strands. 

I close my eyes for a moment and just bask in the atmosphere. Tom and I are gonna be together, as in married. It's a big step, but I know Tom worked out all the scenarios and how to manage, and if he decided it was a good idea, then nobody knows better than him. 

My head suddenly jerks at a thought striking my mind. He gives mea questioning look, I see a bit of fear playing in his eyes as well.

"You used to put your head in my lap and you never do something without explaining it to me first. Why?"

The fear is immediately gone and instead replaced by warmth. He motions to a place right next to him, and when I lay down, he puts his arm around my shoulders. 

"Do you remember that time when Muse toured for Absolution in the USA? We were far away from home and I felt hopeless being around you all the time. One night after a gig I thought you all left to an after-party, and this feeling, the pain from loving you, but not being able to tell you directly, took over and I started crying in your bunk."

"Oh, yeah, but I came back to change shirts and I found you. I don't remember much, though, I was a bit adtenaline high from the show." I blushed slightly.

He chuckles. "Pretty much. You didn't even change your shirt and straight up ordered me to make a room for you and put my head into your lap." 

The memories come back flooding. "And then you confessed."

"And then _you_ confessed." 

"And I..." 

"It's the place I feel safe in. Like nothing can hurt me and everthing's gonna be fine."

"Why did you stop?" 

"Because I realised that even if I'm just around you, I feel safe."

I feel so bad for accusing him of such things like falling out of love now that I know. But it's also liberating to know that one final thing I always wanted to know. 

He can still surprise me. And unlike all those times before, I _really_ don't mind.


	6. Wolstendom

Dom woke up in a shock. His eyes cringed at the blinding white he wasn't used to and he put his face to the crook of his elbow to shield himself from it.

He couldn't recall what had happened the night before, only bits and pieces his mind could replay at that time. Show. Party. Drinks. Matt. More drinks. Miles Kane. Chris saving him from whatever conversation he was having with a random woman.

_Chris driving him home._

Was it his own house, or Chris'? Why would he be at Chris' when he was drunk off his arse and a pain in the arse to be around too? 

He placed his arm on the cover of the bed, confused and not any wiser from his hazy memory. Maybe Chris _did_ take him to his house to sleep it off. It's still closer to the stadium than Dom's house at the edge of London. He bet he didn't want to deal with him for long. He could be a right bastard when he was pissed up. 

Dom turned on his side and to his horror bumped into an arm that wasn't his.

The owner let out a deep growl Dom couldn't recognise who it belonged to, but after a low _what the fuck_... he picked up the tone. The accent. The thick Northern accent that could belong only to his bandmate. 

_No hash decisions, Dom. Perhaps he was too tired to go to his own room._

He chanced a half-whispered word. "Chris...?" 

The bassist's hazel eyes didn't open even for a second, and he turned to Dom only to grab his chest and push him so close their equally naked chests were flushed together.

_Dom felt something else that was probing down in his lower region._

"Chris," Dom said a little louder. He didn't like the sensation _at all_. He felt a sharp intake on the back of his neck, the brown head sweeping backwards.

"Wha..." Chris groaned, visibly shaken from Dom's harsh wake-up call. A hand rubbed at his eyes, swiping the tiredness away and he turned to look at the source of his awakening. 

As their eyes met, Dom visibly shaken, Chris more surprised, their brains tried to figure out the reason behind them sharing a bed. _Chris' bed, nevertheless._

"Uh..." Chris grumbled, his hand shooting to his face once again. "Why are you in my bed?" 

He just realised that he was starkers under the blanket. 

_The blanket he shared with Dom._

He pulled it higher over his chest.

The blond raked through his hair and sighed. "No idea. Probably crashed at your place 'cause I was being an arsehole."

"Sounds like you, yeah. Still doesn't explain me being here, though," Chris said.

"Exhausted? We _did_ play a show before the party, after all."

Dom lifted the duvet and Chris closed it fast, mortified. "What the fuck, Dom?!"

"Just wanted to check, is all," he shrugged his shoulders.

 _Silence_.

It was probably the thickness of the atmosphere and nervosity from the situation. Neither said a word, only communicating through the intense stares they were throwing each other. 

Chris coughed. "It was, uh, it's summer. Nights are still hot, so... guess that's why I undressed?"

"I'm sure I started taking my clothes off half way to your room," Dom joked, pointing at how bad his drunken state can be.

They both used to save each other's arses during the Origin of Symmetry era and they _knew_ what fuck ups the other could do while drunk.

 _Wild times, and good times too_ , Dom thought, but didn't dare say it out loud.

"Okay, but I gotta fish those clothes." The drummer pulled the covers to his neck, emphasising his words. "You don't really turn the heating on in the morning, do you?"

"No, I don't need to. Got used to the chilly mornings, while you were getting tan in California," Chris chuckled and reached to the bedside table. He pulled out a pair of boxers and put it on under the blanket.

"Har har. Being bigger doesn't give you the privilege to make fun of me." Dom found a shirt on the floor and quickly put it over his head, so that way he doesn't have to worry about being embarrassed in front of his bandmate even more than now. "Honestly, I missed London. It's still busy, but... _cozier_. Comfortable. Wish Matt stayed longer."

"He was worrying the whole evening about Tom blowing up his house while he's gone. I think he deserves to be relaxing at home now." Chris put both of his arms behind his head and leaned on the wall, watching Dom struggle to find his clothes under the bed.

The blond straightened on the bed and looked at Chris. "I need my trousers. Don't look." With that, the covers lifted up and Dom put his bare feet on the floor. He reached down for something and Chris watched how the muscles on his back worked, all the little movements of the joints were tantalisingly slow. 

_Obviously_ , Chris wanted to look at what was the outcome of Dom's exercising for the past few months. 

Damn, if only the shirt he just put on wasn't so long...

Wait, Dom's shirt was _too long_? 

Chris wouldn't normally register it, but since the last tour he noticed Dom was wearing only clothes that fit him _perfectly_ , leaving almost nothing for the imagination, but also not giving away _too_ much. 

And now the shirt he was wearing was long at the sleeves, covering his legs to the middle of his thighs and it was _plain white_. That was almost impossible seeing Dom without a pattern on his shirts these days.

And then it clicked.

Dom could sense Chris' smirk on the back of his neck, making him shiver slightly. "What's the matter?" he asked, his voice trembly. 

"I think you're wearing my shirt."

"How fucking come-" Dom started, but once he looked down and turned to face a mirror mounted to a wardrobe, he saw how low the article was and how it was hanging on his slightly muscular arms. It almost offended him.

The only thing that kept the shirt on was the fact that he was naked underneath it. Otherwise it would be flying out of the window, Chris' shirt or not. 

He heard a snicker behind him and he frowned at the sound of biting back laughter...

"Hey, I'm not that skinny. It's your fucking shirt," Dom said and started removing the shirt for the humiliation he got, but Chris stopped him. 

"Sorry, it's just funny how different we are. Never realised that I'm _that_ big," he chuckled. "Keep it. For... uh, obviously for not outing your dick to me."

"Sure..." Dom prolonged the vowels, looking at Chris with strange anticipation, and dropped to his knees to search for his trousers under the bed. He found them laying right in the middle and as much as he tried to stiffle his sigh, Chris could hear it up there on the bed. 

The bassist looked over the edge to look at what his friend was doing only to see his his shirt riding dangerously up. He blushed despite trying not to watch the movements of the blond. 

Dom fished out his trousers and put them on, not caring about any underwear. His main goal now was to get dressed and get the hell out of Chris' house as to not bother him any longer than needed and not to awake certain unnecessary memories, _if_ something did happen. 

He looked in the mirror again, watching his lean form in the fitting jeans and Chris' oversized T-shirt. Normally it would look absolutely horrendous, but somehow the thought that Chris might be wearing it to bed or to shows was interesting. Mainly because it also smelled like him. Chris smelled like a strange mix of roses, cigarettes and mint. In theory it sounded even weirder. 

In practice, Dom couldn't get enough. 

"I... I think might have to go," Dom stumbled over his words, incited by Chris' natural scent.

Chris coughed, breaking the awkward silence that fell upon them. "Yeah... sure, totally. Uh, do you want a ride?" 

"Cheers, I'll call a taxi, I think."

The drummer grabbed his phone from the nightstand, his wallet stayed in the back pocket of his jeans, and waited for Chris to let him out. 

"I'll bring you the shirt next time I come around. You try and find where mine disappeared to, yeah?"

"I'll get to it as soon as I start tidying up this mess," Chris said, getting up from the bed. He stood up too quickly and his head started spinning a bit. Thankfully Dom was close to keep him from falling.

"I'll never get the shirt this way, then," he mocked the bassist.

Chris looked to where Dom's hand was holding him in place, then he aimed for Dom's eyes, the big, grey orbs he failed to notice a lot in his lifetime, and Dom's gaze was enough to ground him.

For a second he thought he was going to lean in and be all sappy and... stuff could happen.

Thankfully, his mind wasn't as clouded as he thought it would be.

He grinned. "Get fucked, Dom." 

And it was all fine.

He lead Dom to the door, his glorious morning form on display to the early morning hours, and let the drummer out.

"I'll see you around. We shouldn't probably tell Matt I crashed here. He'd get jealous and shit," Dom joked.

Cheis leaned on the cold doorframe. "We'll see about that. I might just burst your bubble for stealing my shirt."

They waved at each other while Dom held a phone to his ear, presumably calling a taxi, and when Dom's lift arrived in two minutes, Chris watched the blond leave. Then he closed the door without a second thought.

Chris returned to his bedroom and started making up the bed. He wasn't used to having to do it at all, but Dom was a messy sleeper, unlike him, and the sheets were thrown all over the bed in messy knots. 

The covers needed a proper washing and the cushions were the same. He just needed to get Dom's smell of alcohol and cigarettes off the bed. 

As he lifted the pillows, he saw a small blue packet, ripped at the corner, empty of the contents.

 _So we did it..._ Chris thought with a blank expression plastered on his face. 

Second thought was to call Dom and immediately tell him, so it's clear to both of them and there doesn't have to be any awkwardness or unresolved mysteries.

Or should he...? 

Third thought was to leave Dom in blissful ignorance. 

Because frankly, he liked the thought about what he couldn't remember.

_And he liked seeing Dom in his fairly oversized T-shirt._


End file.
